


First Morning

by wynnebat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Moving In Together, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: A lazy morning in Draco and Neville's new home.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 118
Collections: Rare Pair Shorts - Summer Wishlist Event 2020





	First Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panicparade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicparade/gifts).



> Harry Potter [rarepair_shorts](https://rarepair-shorts.dreamwidth.org/) Summer Wishlist Event gift for bloodisshrp. I hope you enjoy this fic!

Draco wakes to a plant staring at him.

Despite the plant’s notable lack of eyes, he is convinced of it. It hangs over him from the bedside table, unfurling its one big cabbage-sized head with a shiny black eye-thing right over his face. It’s rather unnerving, not that Draco would ever admit to it.

“Are you going to eat me?” he asks, peering at it. From prior experience, he knows that Neville keeps his more dangerous plants in the greenhouses at work, but he wouldn’t put it past this one to be a man-eating plant. It certainly looks the type.

When there is no reply from the plant, Draco huffs and carefully turns the pot the other direction. The plant swivels around to face Draco again.

Draco yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and says, “You’re going in a greenhouse. Creepy thing.”

Unlike Neville, he feels no sympathy for the plant’s droopy leaves.

The master bedroom is a mess of boxes, some open but most sealed shut, all bearing a number and concise description in Draco’s handwriting. Neville must have gotten up before him, so Draco is free to make noise as he looks for his house robes. They’re buried under his collection of spring wear and over a gifted painting that he’ll be happy to never unpack from the box. Pansy’s early attempts at painting were hilarious and also somewhat terrifying with their slow movements and probing expressions.

In the bathroom, Draco finds their toothbrushes have already been unpacked. Morning rituals complete, he finds his boyfriend in the kitchen, preparing an omelet at the counter. Draco rests against him, chest to Neville’s bare back. His boyfriend is shirtless, which is always a delight, especially on lazy mornings. Neither of them have work until Monday, which means they have the weekend to unpack.

“Morning,” Draco says, pressing a kiss against the side of Neville’s head.

Neville turns just enough to kiss him properly. 

“Good morning,” Neville replies. He’s smiling. It’s a good smile. Draco blames it for at least half of his decision to fall in love with and move in with a Gryffindor. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” Draco rests against him, unwilling to move. “You?”

“I always sleep well next to you.”

Draco smiles at his words. He can’t say the same—he’s always been a light sleeper, prone to waking up in the night—but it’s not for a lack of comfort and trust. If he had to choose any bed in the world, it would always be Neville’s. “Your plant is going to eat me. It practically told me so.”

“The one on the bedside table?”

“Mm.”

“It’s not carnivorous. I’ll move it later today. I only shoved it in the bedroom yesterday because I was worried it would be overwhelmed by all the movement through the house.”

Draco finds himself in agreement with the creepy plant. “There were altogether too many Gryffindors here yesterday. We could have moved in by ourselves. I’m perfectly capable of all the moving charms.”

Neville shrugs. “They wanted to help. It was nice.”

“It _was_ nice,” Draco grumbles. “They’re good friends.”

Neville laughs at him and Draco decides that he needs coffee if he’s going to be confronted with how red and gold his life has become. From the red petals of Neville’s favorite flowers to the pair of ancestral gold rings Draco thinks about picking up from his family’s jewelry vault, from the sea of redheads that have adopted Neville as one of their own—and now Draco by extension—to the gold rim of the mug he pours the coffee into. Neville has already brewed a pot, so all Draco needs to do is enjoy it. And he does.

Draco wanders around the kitchen and living room with his coffee, vanishing takeout containers from the night before. Despite his grumbling, it was a nice way to spend the evening, busy as everyone tends to be with jobs and partners and life. Blaise doesn’t believe in what he considers to be doing the work of house elves, so he opted to stay out of it, but Pansy and Greg had joined in. Sipping his coffee, Draco remembers Pansy hugging him at the end of the night and telling him how happy she is for him. He’d been so relieved that he’d never had to choose between his friends and the man he loved; they had all mellowed out in the years since the war. Peacetime gives you too much time to rest your wand and find your breath and fall head over heels with a former classmate.

By the time Draco returns to the kitchen, there are two omelets on the table, and Neville’s rummaging around for forks. Draco refills both of their mugs with coffee and summons the proper box.

“They should be somewhere in here… Or not.” Contrary to Draco’s label, there is in fact no box of silverware inside. Draco can’t believe he’d lied to himself.

Neville looks up from his own box. “Not in here, either. How many kitchen boxes did we have?”

“A few more,” Draco says, summoning his list to find the right boxes. By the time they confirm that neither box six nor seven has the silverware, he is thoroughly disgruntled.

“We could transfigure some forks,” Neville offers, scratching his head. “Going from a spatula to a fork can’t be too hard.”

“I don’t remember much transfiguration,” Draco admits.

“Me neither.”

Draco starts laughing and Neville joins him, slumping against each other on the floor of their new kitchen, tangled up in boxes and packing paper and each other. Everywhere is evidence of their lives merging together into one wonderful, amazing thing, full of plants and clothes and maybe, eventually, even some silverware.

“I love you,” Draco says when he catches his breath. “Forks or no forks.”

“Me, too,” Neville replies. His gaze is fond, peaceful, and he doesn’t look away. “I’m too happy to care.”

The omelets are cold by the time they find the silverware, but Draco doesn’t care one whit. He has all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [Tumblr](https://wynnefic.tumblr.com/).


End file.
